Well hello there, Katja FFF... Katja. Dalton wasn't even going to try to pronounce her last name right. Let's be honest: he was utterly incapable of it anyway. I'm Dalton. He stared at her hand with a grin, then just pulled her in for a hug. C'mon! Are we a family or what?

Oookay, no handshakes, but hugging. That probably meant she was adopted? Man, that was fast! She returned the hug, though perhaps a teensy bit awkwardly. "I guess so?" There was some uncertainty in her voice, but there was also a huge grin on her face as she once more realised how strong the bonds that united everyone here were.

Either you are or you ain't, Dalton said when finally released her from his grasp. I'm guessing you aren't a tourist if you're just hanging around here asking for food. He still checked her out, top to bottom, as was his habit. She seemed pretty "normal". He only noticed the bright pink marking around her neck when he went back up bottom-to-top. Wasn't it another color literally 5 seconds ago? Nice tat'. Or birthmark?

Awesome. And it did indeed change color. He wasn't hallucinating. It did it again, right here, in front of his eyes. The bright pink turned into a muddy brown before becoming pitch black. That's sick! Excitement in his eyes. See, the wonder never ceases here. What can you do? Or haven't you figured it out yet? Very off-topic. Dalton hadn't forgotten the poor girl had asked for directions, but he was slightly distracted.

Black. Very cool. He pasted his thumb and index together to form a circle and lifted the rest of his fingers. The universal sign for A-okay. He briefly wondered if she had other marks, but so far none that he could see. Too bad he couldn't ask. It was his turn to answer. I can teleport stuff. That's right, just stuff. I'm hoping to test this shit out on people next, but so far no volunteers. He grinned again.

He felt his chest swell with pride when she approved. It was awesome. No time to savor it, though. This girl was cu-ri-ous. She also had an obvious accent, but Dalton added that to the "ask later" list. It's definitely easier when I see what I want to teleport. If I don't it... Hard to admit. Well, let's say it usually fails. Totally working on it, though.

Don't worry. I wasn't asking. Yet. What was it you needed again? Ah right. Grub. He stroked his chin like a wise old man with a longass beard, as if he actually had to think hard about it, as if he didn't exactly know where to take her. There's a cafeteria, but I wouldn't trust my brothers' cooking skills. Wanna grab something outside? He pointed at the revolving doors behind him. Outside meant the city. Out there. Where it wasn't safe.

How hungry are you? And what are you hungry for? Important questions. If she had skipped breakfast she might be up for brunch. Or if she was a latte kind of girl maybe just a coffee. McDonalds, perhaps? Or something Asian? The options were nearly unlimited.

They were back to more down-to-earth topics, but just as important right now. "Pretty hungry, and now would be a good time for a lunch. I'm not picky, so the specifics are up to you." She'd started putting her scarf back on, because, marks or no marks, it was winter and it was freezing cold outside.

Before they really moved onto simpler topics, there was one thing Dalton really had to ask. She was covering herself up, after all. Sure sign of lingering insecurities according to him. Nevermind the cold. Why the scarf?

"Because it's freaking cold out there." Sure, girl, blame the cold. It's not as if you were covering your neck 365 days a year... Oh, wait: it is. But it was the time of year where she had a watertight excuse for her long sleeves and turtlenecks or scarves.

Point taken. Still. It's almost as if he could sense there was more to it. Perhaps because he had one day stood in her shoes? Eh, whatever. If she wanted to talk about it, they'd do it some place else. He wasn't gonna force her to spill the beans at gunpoint. Maybe with an intense stare later. Alright, alright. Best grab your coat too then. You got a place here? Does she even have a coat? Some mutants arrived here with little else than the clothes on their back.

Right, her coat, good idea. "I don't have a place here," yet?, "but my coat is over there, near the door." She'd taken it off when she'd come in and more or less forgotten in a corner of the room where it wouldn't bother anyone. Messy? Perhaps a bit, but she hadn't seen anywhere where she could hang it and, like she'd said, she didn't have a room of her own in this building.

Damn, who recruited you? D'you have a mentor? Normally they're supposed to give you like... at least half a second of orientation. But I suppose everyone has their own style, huh? Dalton glanced at the rags in the corner (#sorrynotsorry) and teleported them to him with a snap of the fingers. They fell right into his arms, as planned. Here ya go.

"She calls herself Rousette. Red hair, bat wings, about my size. She gave me some orientation, but I think I was a bit overwhelmed, I must have skipped some bits." Understatement there. Katja wasn't the most impressionable person, but these were exceptional circumstances. Speaking of exceptional: there was her coat. She'd just witnessed real-life teleportation. Her mouth briefly formed an O-shape before her brain caught up. "That's definitely cool."

He grinned at her. Right? He clearly shared her opinion. To think I lived most of my childhood thinking my talent was just "to be purple". Craaaazy. He handed her her coat, then gestured towards the exit (or entry) with his chin. Good to go, then? FYI, if you really let me pick I'll go for hamburgers.